A hospital, or facade and cruel parody of such an institution, was situated in the middle of the Umschlagplatz and divided the two large holding areas. The second of which, the hospital courtyard, was used as a space to keep the infirm who were waiting to be transported. The courtyard was further used as a temporary overnight prison for a variety of vagrants and felons due to be evacuated. Although largely separated and blind-sided by the hospital building in the middle of the Umschlagplatz Halina nevertheless craned her neck and, looking through a sea of bobbing heads, peered into the adjacent holding area. Her heart flooded in compassion. Hundreds of children, often in rags, shoeless, shivering, populated the woman's terrible view. They had emptied another orphanage. Out of an estimated 6 million people who were killed in the Holocaust it is approximated that around 1.5 million of those were children under the age of fifteen. Halina could not think of any reference point to describe the monstrous cruelty, or her own feelings - because there was no reference point, either in History or her own life. Orphans huddled closer to their guardians and teachers, nestled in temporary warmth and sanctuary. Halina could see the adults hug the children and whisper encouragement, or lies, into their ears. One boy broke free from the group and ran as fast as his legs could carry him towards the area set aside for those who would escape the final selections. But a shot came from nowhere - knocking the child off his feet - and ended the absurdist's escape bid. Tears cut streaks into their dunny faces. It seemed that they had also been told to stay close to a friend, for many of the children held hands in couples as they were ordered out from the holding area and into the space where the final selections occurred. None received a reprieve. All the children, all the infirm, were jostled onto the leading cars of the trains. After a short time Halina couldn't bear to look. She turned her tear-soaked face away and buried her head into the moth-eaten chest of her husband, who put an arm around his anguished wife in a delayed, almost mechanical action. Somewhere inside of Solomon there was an ailing yet clear voice yearning to get out, filled with bellowing rage and love - but it could not overcome the shell of his senescent body. His eyelids felt heavy but the scenes before the old man seemed to darken for another reason as though a hood was slowly being draped over his head.
Halina suddenly felt her husband lean into him, rather than support her. He had passed out. She immediately wiped the tears away from her eyes and sat Solomon down. He regained consciousness quickly - with what little consciousness he had left (his aspect and features were even more unresponsive to his wife's instructions). She pressed the half-slice of bread into her husband's mouth and made him wash it down with a couple of swigs of water. As Halina bent over her husband who sat like a child, or Bhudda, upon the concrete she was suddenly nearly crushed. A typhus-ravaged adolescent fell over them as people shifted and parted to allow a brace of Jewish policemen to move among them - confiscating bundles which, under the rule of them being too large or too heavy, appeared to contain valuables. Halina heard a voice addressing one of the constables.
"Where are we going?"
"Madagascar," the policeman answered back. Halina was too far away to discern whether the man was being sarcastic or not, but she knew he was lying. When the policemen were contented with their haul they barged their way back through the crowd, shaking off the odd child and nebbish who desperately pleaded for food, drink and answers. Various exchanges fleetingly distracted the grieving woman, some heated, some hopeful - all seemingly futile.
"They must still need many of us to work. Why else did they give out the bread and jam before, if not to keep our strength up?...We are not coming back...Be brave..."
Despair, fortitude, numbness and fear swirled around and inside the woman like a rainbow of colour in a pool of oil. She unconsciously began to rock like a child, partly due to wanting to relieve herself, partly due to the tortuous wait. Just as Halina began to wonder again how long they would have to wait a couple of whistles sounded and the dishevelled flock of people began to be funnelled through the barrier which led to the final selection area. Officious soldiers and a few smartly dressed civilians in suits, counting out loud in more than one language, were dotted around the narrow entrance. With her arm around his waist Halina encouraged her morose husband to walk, or rather shuffle, into the final compound before they all reached the trains. They kept to the sanctuary of the middle of the group; being hemmed in meant that they might escape the blows of the policemen and soldiers who shouted at and struck those evacuees who moved too reticently.
Once in the selection area a further horde of soldiers and policemen descended upon the group. Some of the healthier looking men were extracted and would escape deportation through their fitness for labour. Papers were again requested. Those same documents which had so readily condemned a candidate for selection a couple of hours ago now suddenly saved them. It was a lottery. The winners however, led away through an exit to the left of the selection compound, were few and far between.
Christian Kleist amused himself and played to the galleries of his equally amused soldiers by mingling with and addressing a portion of the evacuees - as was his custom to do once a week or so. Descending from his wooden platform, which could also serve as a makeshift gallows, he first spoke to an old, club-footed woman who caught his eye.
"How are you mother? Would you like me to get one of my men to help you with your bundle?" the Lieutenant remarked with mock concern. His men laughed - and in particular Dietmar Klos grinned in appreciation of his senior officer's sense of humour - at the terrified and perplexed expression upon the old woman's face. She didn't even realise the German officer was joking with her, to which the Lieutenant played-up his part even more.
"You have done well to survive this long mother. You will be safe now. Perhaps we will get you a job working with your hands in the East, so as to rest your foot."
"Yes, thank you" the old woman replied, her face transforming itself into a gummy smile. Not recognising the German's sarcasm - and believing in the minor miracle because the woman had nothing else to believe in - the aged widow's expression shone with a semblance of mawkish hope.
"If you wait over there mother, one of my men will see to you and make sure you're given the right papers and put upon the correct car of the train," the charming Lieutenant kindly whispered to the hairy-chinned woman, putting his arm around her and pointing his gloved hand to where she should wait. Christian also kept nodding and smiling until the woman copied his expression and assented. Livia Rozett (an ex-school teacher and mother of three) was hesitant in complying with the German officer as he seemed to be directing her to wait next to a pile of dead bodies which were heaped up against the wall of the selection area. Sensing her hesitancy though Christian placed a firm hand upon her back and guided her a few yards towards her destination. Livia Rozett warily looked back a couple of times as she stutteringly walked towards her supposed sanctuary, fearing something to be amiss with every step almost - but each time she turned back the German officer smiled encouragingly at her. About fifteen yards or so from the pile of bodies the gentle old woman stopped, queasy from the sight and stench in front of her: contorted, blood-caked corpses; swarms of flies dancing in front of her face and settling upon open wounds, glistening in the mizzle. Groans and subtle movements animated parts of the group. Some would be buried alive. Before the fetid odour of the corpses finally made her sick a single shot spliced the air and Livia Rozett fell to the floor. Drunken guffaws then reverberated in the Umschlag as the Lieutenant's entourage clapped their hands and shouted "good shot" and "capital fun" to their leader. The bullet had entered the back of the woman's skull and then blown the front of her face off. Christian pulled his arm back from its firing position and, ignoring the laughter and comments from his comrades, he gazed down and nodded at the pistol in appreciation. For a change he had swapped his P.08 Luger for a Browning 9mm Automatic, which had been given and recommended to Christian by a fellow officer. In his journal later that evening Christian posited how h
e believed the Browning to be as "accurate and efficient" as reported, but that he preferred the German Luger, "not only for its weight and range, but for the trust" he had in the weapon. He half-jokingly wrote how he tested the pistol by killing a Jew in "the name of science, or ballistics... Fortunately I was granted the chance to give the pistol a second (and third and fourth) opportunity to convince me of its merits."
After ordering the old woman to be piled up with the rest of the bodies against the wall the Lieutenant approached a bedraggled column of Jews, clearly relishing the sport and foreboding he was creating. He holstered the pistol and addressed a young man, Samuel Grocher (a former classmate of Adam Duritz turned smuggler). It was understandable why Christian selected the young man. He owned an intelligent face underneath his peaked cap; his frame was also sturdy and he carried himself differently (bravely, confidently) in relation to many of the hunched creatures around him.
"You there, what's your name?"
"Samuel Grocher," the proud Jew replied, looking the SS officer in the eye.
"You have survived the ghetto well it seems. Perhaps you stole your neighbour's food."
"No, I bribed your soldiers until I no longer had anything else to give them," he retorted with honesty more than insolence in his tone (albeit one could have mistook the honesty for insolence). Samuel had promised himself a long time ago that, when the time came, he would die with dignity, stoicism. Coming to terms with the inevitable bred a strange philosophical confidence in the young man, who before the occupation had flirted with the vocation of becoming a Rabbi.
Christian's amused expression faltered a little at the quickness and daring of the reply but then he continued to deal with the Jew with the pleasure of knowing that he could end his life at any moment.
"Do you know where you are going?"
"Yes, the same place as you."
"And where might that be?" Christian replied - riled, amused and feigning amusement at the conceited air of the doomed Jew.
"I am going to die. The sum of our lives will add up to the same thing. In that respect we are the same."
"You will get to that place before me that I can assure you."
"But you'll be following me sooner than you think."
"I wouldn't want you to be too lonely before I get there though. You shall have some company for your journey."
Baring his sharp white teeth Christian then suddenly unclipped his holster and removed his pistol. In a paroxysm of hatred he gunned down, without a pause or flicker of remorse, four random evacuees who stood either side of the man. Smiling, his eyes ablaze with sadism, the German then raised the pistol to the defiant Jew's face. Samuel Grocher tried to hold back his tears and fear - and not give the SS psychotic the pleasure of bowing before his intimidation - but his mask of courage couldn't help but slip as Christian Kleist first fired a bullet into the young man's puffed-out chest. Standing over the ashen youth, blood gurgling in his throat and spilling out of his mouth as he tried to speak, the German then shot the troublesome Jew in the face and spat on his smoking corpse.
Halina Rubenstein heard shots and felt the surge in the column as people scrambled to move away from the danger or stood on tip-toe to catch a look at the latest gruesome tragedy. Halina and Solomon did neither as they kept their heads down and continued to edge towards the awaiting trains. They would not be deselected for work duty. They would not even be asked to have their papers looked at.
The enervated woman tried to recall a happy memory to lift her spirits or take her mind off things, but the immediate peril and visceral scenes overwhelmed her brittle attempts. Life before the occupation had grown so distant, dim. And the memories of the past so often darkened or highlighted the savage gloom of the present. She felt a chill again. The light rain was being scooped up by the wind and blown into their faces.
Before Halina and Solomon Rubenstein even reached the trains they breathed in the thick, chlorinated odour of the wooden carriages. Solomon became suddenly animated, but in a coughing fit. His eyes became rheumy, closing themselves up to the corrosive world. Brawny soldiers all but tossed people into the compartments and ordered every person to squeeze into the corners and to the backs of the giant wooden crates. Vociferous shouting. Pleas. Examples made. Once the evacuees began to spill out of the carriages for being so full one last order was given and the doors were unceremoniously shut. Halina winced in sympathy as she eyed the white, frightened countenances through slits in the splintered carriages.
They trundled along the makeshift platforms, fenced in by the trains and wall of soldiers who moved them along and shunted groups into fresh freight cars. For a brief moment Halina was distracted through catching sight of Stefania Wlast, the widow of the Rabbi that had married her and Solomon. Her aged yet unmistakably kind face shone out from beneath a full-length wrap which had been made through sewing a couple of prayer shawls together. A couple of young men, flanking her, seemed to be taking care of the dignified woman. They were her nephews. Although they had the chance to escape the aktion they both decided to stay with their beloved aunt, who had so lovingly and wisely taken care of them during the first half of their lives.
Halina's sweaty palm made her husband's hand slip out of her grip more easily as he was suddenly wrenched away from her by an impassive German. Halina screamed and immediately, with outstretched arms, tried to force her way through the densely packed crowd to re-reach her husband. Solomon looked back at his distraught wife as he was dragged up from the platform and thrown, as if he were a rag-doll, into a half-empty carriage - but his expression was hauntingly blank. And he was gone.
The frantic woman slapped her bony hands to her face in distress but then re-attempted to get to her husband. A soldier however had sprung up in front of the cluster of people in Halina's way. He opened up his muscular arms and forced them all back towards the previous carriage. Still Halina tried to squeeze her way through the throng, swimming in vain against a more powerful current.
"My husband. My husband," the powerless woman implored, her voice uncovering new strains of despair.
From over the shoulder of one soldier came the base of a rifle butt from another Private, jabbing Halina across her right temple and cheek bone. Vital seconds passed as Halina was knocked senseless for a few moments. A stranger helped her up. Blood tricked down her burning cheek but so concerned was she with finding Solomon that, at first, the dismayed woman didn't notice. As she got to her feet though Halina's heart sank - and something inside of her broke like fine china smashing to the ground - as she witnessed the doors to Solomon's carriage being nailed shut.
Halina was half in a daze as she was buffeted and shoved into her own carriage. Such was the swelling already around her right eye that she could no longer properly see out of it. People spluttered and complained - but not directly to any soldier - that they couldn't breathe. Halina too began to wheeze and suffocate as more and more people were loaded into the car. A young man with a heavily pock-marked face kindly gave up his space and allowed Halina to stand next to one of the windows, air holes, in the carriage. Criss-crossed strands of barbed wire served as bars to the moving prison. Halina pressed her mournful face right up to the narrow vent - so close as to occasionally scratch her forehead upon the wire when people inadvertently squashed into her.
A commotion was suddenly caused outside of the carriage when a man began to violently convulse and froth at the mouth. He had taken a cyanide pill. Perhaps before entering the final selection area he had still been suffused with enough hope to resist such a desperate act - yet perhaps now it was insane not to take his life in his own hands. Annoyed by the disturbance the Germans nevertheless removed the dead Jew's body and then proceeded to load up the compartments again as if nothing had happened.
The floor beneath Halina's tired feet began to vibrate and the train finally rattled and screeched into life. The final task had been to post a group of Ukrainian soldiers on the back of the train, whose orders were to shoot any deportee w
ho tried to jump off and escape. Families huddled together and clutched each other. The air rippled with a multitude of murmurings and groans. Many were quiet, absorbed in their own resignation and misery. Those that were overly vocal were ignored, or told to pipe down as they asked where they were going? - and what would happen to them?
Solomon Rubenstein's mouth hung open. He was unable to muster the strength or effort to clamp it shut. He shivered whilst most of the rest of the people in the carriage perspired from the dirty heat. He tried to picture his children, his wife, but he couldn't concentrate. The photographs always seemed to fall off the mental mantelpiece when he tried to stand them up. His inner eyes were weakening and the images were blurred, or blown away like castles in the sand. Half-way to Treblinka Solomon Rubenstein passed away in a darkened corner of the freight car. His heart stopped beating.
The countryside looked beautiful. Green fields lush and glistening from the rain, freckled in wild flowers. Hedgerows and rambunctious trees of autumnal brown and russets also filled the vista. A couple of Polish children - teenagers within the year - pointed at the steaming train and made faces and waved in amusement at the comically despondent countenances poking out from within the rattling cars. One of the boys had spied a Jew jump off a train one evening a month ago. The guards did not see the event so, keeping his distance, the boy followed the fugitive - who had sprained his ankle from his fall from the train. He tracked the hobbling Jew into some woodland. Such was the desperation of the escapee that he stopped and knocked upon the door of the first cottage he came across. Hesitant and fearful the elderly couple eventually took the Jew in, promising him food and shelter for the night - but that he had to leave first thing in the morning. The boy ran as fast as his legs could carry him back through the wood and to the village. Without even returning home first he found a policeman, who made a phone call. Eventually an SS officer and two soldiers turned up and the boy led them all to the cottage where the Jew was hiding. He was still there when the soldiers arrived. The SS officer took both the escapee and those enemies of the state away to be questioned. For his pains and "doing his duty" the boy but received a "well done" and pat on the head from the SS officer - and thus cursed the Germans underneath his breath all the way home for their lack of rewarding him more substantially.
Warsaw Page 17